Diádokhos Strategos
by Biggus Dickus
Summary: When the servant of Emiya Kiritsugu had been summoned into this, "holy grail war", he had been expecting something of a skirmish- and to do no more real fighting then wave his sword around at an equally disgruntled opponent. But this? This was as real a war as any he had ever fought. Pure butchery. 7 masters. 7 servants. 7 legendary armies. Fate zero retold as more of an actual war
1. Chapter 1

A/N: don't even ask me about the logic on this one... because there is none.

I own nothing

Chapter 1

A cold stone castle in the deepest depths of obscurity. An archaic thing, wholly removed from the fold of modernity- discretion utterly forsaken by the baroque peaks of its towering precipice, and yet it is here that some of the most highly guarded secrets are kept from the eyes of man. The snow falls lightly on the earth, layering the wilderness in gentle white, yet the castle towers indifferently, its stalwart walls shall never be so soft, although it certainly feels the chill on the morning light. It does not waver, a perfect bastion of security- like a watchdog of the night.

And in the half darkness of its interior, a man has summoned a legend. Though perhaps not the one he was expecting.

"You", he began drily, "are not king Arthur". He took a slow drag of a cigarette, its smoldering embers providing a fraction of the light necessary to observe the stoic figure before him. His eyes betrayed nothing.

And the legend stepped forward, bronze cuirass eagerly sucking up whatever illumination it could and spitting it back with defiance and brilliant golden radiance. It was in this way that the summoner could make out the legendary corinthian helmet, with massive red plume swaying with every idle turn of the head, and sunken darkness obscuring the owners eyes and facial features behind an expressionless wall of bronze. The whole body was a wall of bronze- from head to toe, helm to greaves, and the aspis shield which was settled to the cold-stone floor with the loud clang of metal, as the legend prepared to invoke its voice.

The echo of metal on stone...

Echo...

echo...

echo...

The summoner took another drag of his cigarette.

The world held its silence.

The legend held up his hand. "No", he said finally. Though his voice was level, it seemed to hold all the ferocity of a lion. "I am the defender of Greece".

"And you brought friends", the summoner drawled, though not everyone was as un-emotive.

"Whats happening!?", a white haired woman shrieked. Her eyes were wide and her body was tense, for the red of the summoners circle had burst free once more, filling the murkiness with its bloody light, and from the depths of mysticism and times past, began to pour out more shapes, more figures.

More helms, more shields, more spears, shambling into the castle air, confused, lost, and without purpose. The room was filling swiftly with the jostling mass of bodies and confused murmurs.

"Not friends", spoke the legend. "Country men certainly, and yet, their presence here is as much a mystery to you as it is to me".

Xxx

Outside, on the snowy plains bordering castle and forest, four hundred men from another time congregated in a ritual as old as human history: the public assembly. Their arrival to this time had been tumultuous, sudden, disturbing, and absolutely none of them wasted anytime conveying this to their fellow wayfarers in as loud and brash a manner as possible... and all at once. In fact, by their mannerisms, and the sheer racket they were managing to put up, it would've been near impossible to tell that they had once been men of the highest order of civilization.

Few words could be made out from the chaos, scattered about on the wind.

"Ludicrous! This is ludicrous!-"

"-By the gods! What trickery is this!"

"-Witch craft, foul witchcraft is what this is!"

"Silence!", somebody shouted. He was quickly drowned out by a hundred other voices.

"What's the meaning of this- this lunacy!?"

"-You bloody knob, there is no meaning! We've been buggered!"

"Silence gentlemen! Silen-"

"Every man for himself!". There was the distinctive noise of somebody being punched in the face, and that was that.

"SHUT UUUUP! SHUT UP YOU SONS OF WHORES!"

The immediate silence that followed was just as deafening. Everyman turned towards the source of the shout, thinking it was a herald of Olympus or something of the sort, voice roaring like thunder, and the herald, seeing his opportunity, shoved his way into the center.

He was a tall, middle aged man, who wore his dark hair long, in the traditional greek fashion. His olive skin, proved a harsh contrast to the wintry white falling about to rest gently on his shoulders- on everyones shoulders- as did his dark, keen eyes. These spoke of experience, glaring out through the darkened sockets of a neatly handsome face. He was dressed only in his tunic, like the rest, for there was no place for armor and weaponry in a meeting of citizens. Those who recognized him, nodded in deference.

"You are all confused", he said, "that is understandable, for you have not had the blessing that I have had- had not the voice of zeus to whisper quietly in your ear that we, fellow citizens, have been summoned... for a holy war".

"War!? War!?", the response was immediate outrage.

"What need have we for war!? What need!?", asked a hundred voices. The deafening voice of public opinion.

"- Can you not see!? Can you not see!? It is a blessing!"

"To what end Miltiades!?" The crowds parted to allow a new speaker into the center. He threw his arms out to the heavens, as he stepped forward. "To what end does the brave", he sneered at this, "Miltiades, ask of me- of us, noble greeks, to shed our blood in the after life?! Shall I, Euthymios, proud citizen of Athens, degrade myself to the level of some Lacedaemonian?! Some spartiate, whoring himself out to the heels of ares till only blood shall sate my being?! Shame on you!"

"Shame!", echoed a hundred more voices.

"Warmonger!"

"I fight for my city!", Miltiades snarled above the racket, "as do the rest of you, and it is in the name of our city, Athens, and all Greece, that I ask you to take up arms once more!"

"Athens is dead!", someone shouted from the back ranks, though this incited several more jeering "boos", then he had probably expected. "It died with us!"

"Boooooooo!"

"Somebody shut him up!"

"-You shut up you goat fucker!"

"Fine citizens, of Athens", Miltiades continued after some semblance of quiet had been restored. "True, the years have not been kind on our fair city. Even now, our successors, those fools who have forgotten their noble heritage drive it further into ruin. Every day that passes, our people live in greater poverty then the last. The world has forgotten our glory, and moved on. But I tell you, it shall be restored! For this war shall make it so! It is an opportunity from the gods, and more then that, it is a sign- a sign that we, Euthymios", he looked the man straight in the eyes, "are favored above all others!".

Some men cheered briefly, being easy to please, others remained quiet.

"-one single wish, one powerful wish, to restore history to its rightful course! And-"

"Miltiades!", out from the crowd stepped another man. A man of average height with a balding head of hair, and a pale unhealthy pallor to his skin. He seemed to frown in embarrassment from being given such attention. Nevertheless, he gripped his balls, stepped up and spoke. "My name is Parmenides, and two thousand years ago, I fought with you. We fought with you", he said, gesturing around at his assembled country men. "And two thousand years ago, we died", he finished lamely. "Now we find ourselves wrested from the peace of our final rest in hades, to a world which we can scarcely recognize, with a country that no longer knows us. Like or not, the world turned out as it is now, and exists as it is now. What right do we have to tamper with the lives, the existences, of our descendants? We are old, past our time, and all I wish for, is to be reunited with my family once more."

"You can do so with the full honors of a hero Parmenides". Miltiades gazed around at the multitudes of faces before him. All thoughtful, sad, confused, angry. "What say you? Any of you?!" Some men nodded as his gaze passed over them, while others looked down instead. "Where have the brave men gone?! Where are the brave men of Athens gone, and who stand before me?! This huddled mass of humanity, who dare to pass up this opportunity, and dream of silent night! Will you not follow me?! Your strategos! One final time, as the dusk washes over our memory!"

"Elected general of two thousand years", somebody muttered, "bloody tyrant".

"Quiet", said somebody else, quite indistinguishable from the crowd. "Now its obvious, as there is some disagreement here, that there's only one thing left to do."

"Aye", all four hundred men agreed in unison.

"Kill the opposition!", somebody shouted in the background. There was the discrete hiss of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.

"No you fools! Are you civilized men, or are you pig headed barbarians?! I meant vote! We put it to a vote!"

Everyone let out a groan, for they had all interpreted the "one thing" differently.

"Very well". Euthymios seeing his opportunity, spoke up once more. From his memories of life, Miltiades remembered him as a shrewd- if unsuccessful politician. "Let us defer to our most noble custom, and remember whilst we do so, our roots as orators, artists, philosophers- good honest folk, with honest intentions. We may have once taken up arms in defense, but now Miltiades, the tyrant of Chersonese, would have us do so once more, for as unjust a cause as to sate his own ambition!", he laughed harshly. "Fool yourselves not, my friends. This man will lead us to ruin! But I expect each of you to not allow him this opportunity". With that, he cleared his throat, turned, and marched away, melding back into the crowd once more.

And from the window of a tower in the einzbern castle, Emiya Kiritisugu watched over one of the oldest and proudest of Athenian traditions.

He felt a pair of gentle arms around him. "Not quite what we were expecting was it?"

"It changes nothing", he grunted, "all they have to do, is their duties as servants. They are tools. Nothing more". He took a deep breath, feeling Irisviel's head on his shoulder. "In truth, I'm glad".

"Glad?"

Kiritisugu gave one of his rare smiles. They had become increasingly rare as the war drew nearer. "Part of me feels as though... the king of knights wouldn't have been a suitable servant for me after all".

They stood in silence for a minute, two minutes, watching the men of Greece cast stones.

"Four hundred servants", Irisviel whispered. "And one step closer to fulfilling your ideals". She found herself shuddering, despite the warmth of her husband.

Four hundred angry spirits brought forth from the dead. No direction, no purpose, bound by a few command seals and the promise of a single miracle.

And by mid afternoon, those four hundred angry spirits, clad in bronze cuirass and linothorax, were marching up and down the courtyard to the steady chant of "1, 2, 3, 4! March in step you dogs, you are warriors!" Four hundred shields and groans were raised in unison at the single cry of "Phalanx!", then lowered, then raised again, and four hundred spears were presented perfectly, as Miltiades marched down the line.

The vote was indecisive, but operating on a simple majority, it was sufficient. 205 votes for. 195 against.

The air was filled with blood, and the Athenians prepared for war.

Xxx

And there's the first chapter, more of a prologue then anything, introducing our main man Miltiades, and the Athenian army. In particular, this is only a portion of that same army that routed the Persians at the battle of Marathon. Miltiades of course, is a real person from history, as are the other servants I have in mind. Their armies however, are composed entirely of ocs. (Or almost entirely).


	2. Chapter 2

This chapter is dedicated to Panzer4Life, who for some ungodly reason saw fit to follow and favorite this stinky piece of dog shit. Seriously, I went back and read the first chapter and the old second chapter, and I couldnt even get past the first paragraph without wanting to vomit, this shit is so bad. Like, I cant even ask myself what the fuck I was even thinking when I wrote this, because I already know that the answer is: I was shitting into my hand and smearing it all over my keyboard. But Panzer4Life doesnt even seem to care about that. In my own personal opinion, Panzer4Life would read the labels on all the cans of campbell chunky tomato soup in the grocery aisle if he could. He just doesnt seem to care what he reads, and I say this with all due respect, and affection.

Anyway, for those of you who read both the first chapter and the old second chapter, and are for some reason reading this now, disregard the old second chapter. You dont know who those two other servants are. In fact I might change them now, if I even continue this (probably not). This chapter has no other servants, just more Miltiades and the Athenian camp since I felt I could do more with them presently.

Also you might notice a marked difference in the style of writing between the first chapter and this one. This is because Im currently undergoing that period in my life where my writing style gets hijacked by pretty much any book I read, and wouldnt you know it, the only books Ive read recently were not written in recent times. For this reason Im considering replacing the first chapter as well, for consistency, and to save myself the embarassment of its existence. You may not consider this one to be much better.

xxx

The dawn of the next day saw Miltiades at a liesurely pace through the castle corridors. The sun, as often as the opportunity to present itself in such a dank and stagnant enclosure, announced the presence of the new day through the silvered sheen of cold withering winter, gleaming, stabbing its way through successions of heavy slivered glass. Desperate, grasping, and exotically benign to Miltiades who had rarely seen winters presence so heavy an influence on the earth. He drew through a curtain of shafted dawnlight with unusual expectancy, and as his silhouette wormed through the falling silver, arm outstretched in tentative curiousity, felt a somewhat bizarre disappointment that the thing was not substantial and did not fall through his fingers like some silken fabric, for it had the look of such a thing.

The sunlight beckoned further ahead. In his mind, Miltiades weathered another compulsion. His master beckoned, and this is what drove him at such an early hour, for as a spirit, he felt no great inclination to exercise or explore, but seemed driven to obey this man who had summoned him, even if not compelled by the bond of magic but through the pursuit of self interest. A curious thing, he had little imagined that a shade could possess such a sense of self awareness, but of course- he was no ordinary shade. The knowledge gifted to him, among other things, apprised his greater destiny. He was a hero, not unlike Iason, or Herakles of old. Though, he thought, this marked heroism seemed to either be possessed of a great many athenians of his time, many of whom he had known to not possess a single heroic bone in their body whatsoever- if you had shown them the scylla or the nemean lion, they would have called foul, ran for the hills, then promptly died of the exertion- or the status was much more lax in its purview than what the stories had claimed.

This is the thought which left him when he pressed open the great gilt doors to his audience. They both let out a withering groan; such a disparaging noise that a man could feel his body wither and grow old at the sound, until its croaking dissonance became the harmony of their very bones. His master had a severe expression on his dark face and he eyed the arrival with murderous displeasure glinting from his eyes. Of course, Miltiades knew why this was so. In his mind he had felt that the masters beckoning urged more haste from him than what his liesurely pace hald afforded, but as he had no concern for the mans health beyond whether the miserable shrivel would croak or die before he could accomplish his own goals, he felt little need to rush himself.

"My dear Master, I have arrived with all due haste!". Then, realizing that he had spit out the word master with uncharacterstic venom in contrast to the tone of "My" or "Dear" which was spoken with more enthusiasm, was quick to flap his hands in brusque and deliberately over zealous correction. "Ah, ah, my apologies", he said, throwing a notable stutter into his words, as any orator would. "We men of Athens, you see have an uncommon hatred of such words or words which imply a similar meaning, It is a relationship 'it' and I do not share however, I know also that it is similar in the east!" In his mind, he thought particularly of persia, but knew from his newly gained knowledge that this condition existed further eastward as well.

The master nodded to a black haired woman by his side, a gesture that was clear in intent and meaning. The woman took her leave without an uttered word.

Miltiades turned sideways to allow passage, and as soon as she was out of sight, Kiritsugu wheeled on his servant with vicious intent, although outwardly, he was calm. His anger and disillusionment, finding no exterior outlet to manifest itself upon his ragged face, instead found its way to his fingers, with a constant tap tap upon his great coat.

"What was that yesterday?"

"A great victory master", Miltiades said without pause, for he had felt the masters dispassion since the moment it was rendered, through the spiritual bond, and knew exactly what was affront. "If, I do say so myself".

"What I saw was potentially dangerous to my efforts in the war". Kiritsugu shifted. In his countenance, Miltiades could make out a sharp witted perception. "Can you control them or not?"

"Without a doubt"

"What I saw was doubt. If you can control them, than do so", the master spat, eyes narrowing. "I need them ready to fight. Thats what I summoned you for".

The servant endevored to draw up a chair, which once again set the room in groaning protest of oak and stone as wooden legs scraped across rough tile. Then he sat with a deliberately nonchalant swagger, as though his legs could no longer sustain the weight of his body, and all at once the entire ensemble would collapsed inwards on itself, leather ptureges flapping against bronze armor with the sudden violence of the downward plummet. It was, he reasoned, a good and easy way to show lethargy for somebody who in actual fact, felt no such thing; no weariness or discomfort, even beneath the weight of bronze and leather.

Despite this, he removed the greatly plumed corinthian helm from his head- this was the first time since he had been summoned- catching the reflection of his face in the brownish sheen of its metal. He was little surprised when the face of a man who still had his best years yet, gazed impassively back at him. Legends and heroes, after all, must not be summoned decrepit as that would hardly be heroic now would it?

Now, if only the gods had blessed him with a more heroic face. Stalwart, surely. Hard, dependable, not at all vulnerable to jests and mockery, but hardly heroic. It was a face, he mused, some naive minded child mightve associated with a beligerant tyrant, and rightly so, ironically, but hardly given by nature that such a face might mark ones destiny as laden with great power. No, in his mind, because there were few men whom he had known, and whos faces he had seen, whos name had ever been associated with such a term, there existed only a few ways that men such as they could possibly look.

"Ah", Miltiades let out a great sight. Not a tired sigh, a strange sigh, weary, but not showing displeasure. In fact, he could hardly keep a great smile from enveloping the whole of his face. How he had missed exchanges like this, the pleasure of verbal communication, the mutual exchange of words, and an inner voice professed, the grotesquely divulgant pleasure of admonishing grown men like children. A sort of communal past time amongst the ranks of great speakers, in his own opinion.

The candle-light flickered. There were no windows in this room, only a dark and musty gloom such as what is common in a dank cellar. And in the heavy oppression of this atmosphere, in all places, Miltiades was struck by a sudden bout of patriotic fervor. Athens was, after all, his home, and despite what her people had thought of him, that would never change. Unconsciously, he sat up straighter, whether in preperation for speech, or because this powerful feeling had risen up within him and forcefully filled every extremity of his body as if it were only a vessel for its overflowing substance and grandeur.

"Democracy", he said, now smiling whole heartedly. "Not good for many things, and especially disturbing to men such as you or I, I grant you; men with power, and the ability to compel others forcefully into one action or another. To any ordinary men, democracy is such a noble pursuit and aspiration, but not to you or I. No, no, it is anathema, because we men in power always know what we want, and how we should go about accomplishing our goals, and deep within us, we have a conceited voice telling us that we know we are always right. Therefor, what the common man wants is never necessary, and we struggle to comprehend how people could justify governing themselves so inefficiently. It is wasteful, but because they are democrats, they are obligated to argue with us. And yet, their is a sense of brilliance in this, for when it is truly desired and agreed upon by the people, is when action can be empassioned by what they believe is truly just and desired, a form of righteousness driven by self interest which is the only and most powerful form of belief..."

"Im not concerned with what other men believe. Some men have no care for anything beyond themselves. No regard for others. What they believe could be ruinous."

"Yes. Yes. Master, you have just missed my most eloquently stated point", said Miltiades, making sure to put great effort into communicating disatisfaction now, and feeling that if ever he had an ounce of good will towards his master, the unnatural boor was beginning to grate it roughly like a cheese.

"How do you intend to deal with the other servants?" The master replied, pointedly ignoring his servants less than subtle jab at his intelligence.

"You said when I had first arrived here, that you were greatly surprised to see such a host of armed men answer your summonings. Well sir, if this is truely as rare a thing as you say, than it shall be smooth sailing for us. Yes, we shall simply give them such a fright with our numbers that they will freeze as though taken by medusa, then we shall cut them down rightly where they stand- hark, what is that sound?".

He stood with as much speed as he sat- it had alarmed him greatly. "Why, it sounded like a woman, but I know that there are not many in our company, and what could possibly distress her so, that she should elicit such a wretched screech?"

When he looked to his master, he saw the mans face frozen in its momentary transition from one expression of passionate distaste to another, but it quickly reset itself in observation of this new interruption. "That sounded like Iri", he said, with only a minescule trace of concern in his voice.

Miltiades was familiar with the name. "Ah, your wife", he said, feeling that, under the circumstances, his masters reaction did not at all justify the occasion- either he had a very thick skin, or he had been afflicted with a grave case of childhood paralysis of the facial muscles, which prohibited him from properly expressing the language of the soul. Barring that, he simply did not care for the woman. In any case, Miltiades felt it was not his position to judge, and both his priorities, and concerns were demanded elsewhere.

"Are we under attack?"

"I dont know".

"Well then, it seems that, that is a problem I must rectify personally", he mustered, and although you could not detect a hint of fear in his voice, the masters response had shaken him greatly, and he resolved to settle the matter with all due haste. For this purpose, he returned to his rightful form as a spirit, in the interval of which, no physical barrier could stop him from moving freely, and therefor he rushed straight through the castle walls, driven by his own instinct for self preservation.

'Surely', he thought to himself, 'We could not possibly come under attack at such a laughably disadvantageous time'. And he thought this in so assured a fashion as to almost believe in it, for his master had both assured him that this would be the case, and that his bizarre magecraft would inform him of any hidden agressor should they come bearing down on them here. 'Damned bloody fool. Goddamned fool', he ejaculated angrily. To trust so easily in a mans word, and foreign magics. He did not stop to consider that he himself was a product of this very same magic, and instead rematerialized in a sort of running roll, at the end of which he sprang to his feet, stumbling slightly, for the sort of momentum a man could gain traveling so quickly is not easily done away with. In the same motion, he drew a vicious short sword.

"By Zeus", he said, "What is going on out here!?", and steeling his ghostly nerves and body for some sort of vicious engagement, thrust his sword in front of himself in defense. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was unneeded. The broiling tension that had been rising to prominence within his own body evaporated, and in its place settled an immediate and stupefying embarrassment.

The sudden appearance of four hundred men is a woefully difficult thing to compensate for, and likewise, the displacement of four hundred men's worth of mass in a tangible space would be, in any other area that is not wide and open, extremely difficult to account for. Therefor it follows, that the castle courtyard, being both a wide and open space would be tolerably suitable for housing such a body of men, were it not that its inherit openness left it somewhat intolerably exposed to the elements, especially to the unnatural cold, however, being that these men were spirits who felt no discomfort at such wanton exposure, it follows logically that they should make their home there.

It also follows logically that because they were greek, and Athenian, about a quarter of them were currently in the nude, practicing various gymnatstics.

"Oh, oh my", said the masters wife, a pale and demure woman- Miltiades was upon her in an instant ushering her in every direction that his startled mind could possibly concieve.

"Aha ha, nothing to see here I assure you. This- this is a greatly unfortunate business is it not...", and though he was sincere in his displeasure, he rightfully felt that the situation could not have become any more ludicrously absurd, had he concieved of it in any drink addled state, therefor his actions were feuled by both sympathy and outrage and with no particularly strong emotion to guide his actions in any firm direction, he fumbled miserably, until finally he managed to get his hands around her in a manner which caused no particular offense, and firmly guided her back up the causeway.

"By the Gods", he said. "By the Gods", no other words or phrase could properly convey his dissatisfaction then, and when the master reappeared with a look of prime lethargy on his face, he likewise felt every patriotic sentiment drain from his body.

"If I used a command seal, would it affect all of them?", said the Master with a hawk-like shrewdness in his eyes.

The question took Miltiades off guard, startled, his mind having been subjected to far too many shades of apathy and in too short a period of time, he could not fully comprehend the magnitude of the question in the moment, but felt panicked because he truly did not know the answer. Nevertheless, he endeavored to make something up, if only to save himself the embarassment of the moment. He had both the ruminating crowd of underlings gathering behind him, and muttering in ancient koine some ill informed and blasted remarks, as well as the man who held his leash before him.

"Why yes yes, I should think so but that will not be necessary in the slightest", he said hurriedly with a vague motion of shoo, shoo!

Once the master and his wife had fully disappeared within the castle proper, Miltiades turned back on his country men to verbally assault them with savage vitriol. "You ignorant louts! Have you no tact? No shame?"

"What madness is this", came the immediate response, in a voice which the beleaguered strategos was all too familiar with. "These are our customs, the way it has always been."

The man, Euthymios- who seemed to be the very definition of opposing democrat, pressed his way forward to stand before him. Now here was a man, Miltiades observed, who was all too in love with his own visage. He could tell by the way the man stood and observed his own biceps and pectoralis with a loving gleam in his eyes, that this was not too uncommon a motion in the mans daily routine, but in fact well practiced.

"It is not so for others, especially as we are far from home now"

"Is it not?" There was such a great chorus of muttering and general concernation at that decleration, that Miltiades was suddenly taken aback in confusion.

"Ah of course. You do not know. None of you know", he said pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is hardly surprising given the way you have all acted, nevertheless I had not thought otherwise." Indeed, he had taken his own knowledge for granted and was now mystified that the men he had shared an era of common interests and general knowledge with, were now mystefied by the general state of affairs presently.

"Yes gentlemen, not only are we in a land far from home, but we are in a land to the savage east!"

"And how pray", said Euthymios, turning to face the crowd- they had formed a rough semi-circle around the two speakers and were watching with bated silence. "Does Miltiades alone come to possess such knowledge. Lone benificiary of foreign witchcraft. Hah! I say he is in bed with the enemy. My friends, I said this before and I will say it again, this pursuit of madness is foolhardy!" He finished the statement with an eloquent display of fistwaving, and the chorus of applause that he recieved at this seemed far too voluminous for Miltiade's liking. A sullen voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he had won by only a narrow margin in yesterdays assembly, and that cunning men like Euthymios could easily work the crowd against his favor.

'and just as I had finished harping on to my poor master about democracy and the merits of democracy!' he lamented. He now felt a sudden urge to beat Euthymios's brains in for his ignorant loquaicity, or should that fail to sufficiently cow the dissenter, to cut off the mans genitals which he was brazenly waving around in the open, however he staunchly squashed both urges.

"Not witchcraft", he said, lying through his teeth like any good politician. "Providence. Athena herself granted me this wisdom in order to better lead us to triumphant victory".

"It is true!", said a man from the crowd, armored in gold and silver with a flowing blue cape. "Who else but Athena herself could give the gift of such knowledge?"

"Do you mean to imply Euthymios", said Miltiades, "that any foreign conjurer could be possessed of such wisdom as to educate us men of Athenai? My dear Euthymios", he continued, feeling the ebbs and tides of the crowd at his fingertips, "are we Athenians not the wisest men in the land, unmatched in both intelligence and tact by savage easterners?"

The roar of the crowd at that decleration seemed to set Euthymios's cheeks ablaze in indignation, or anger, the latter of which was quickest to manifest itself in his brutish voice. "Miltiades, Miltiades", he harped on bravely, and though the crowds ruckus had subsided, the flames in his face had not. "A great orater, a great statesmen yes, but no great athlete. Never an athelete, and it can never be said that a man who is weak of body is strong of character. Look at our fabled heroes. What could they have accomplished without strength of sword? Would you have Pythagoras lead us into battle? Heraclitus? I think not!"

And with that, he took up a great round stone in both his hands. The crowd was still hush. Euthymios taking up a throwers stance, first cast a single finger to the treeline of the forests beyond the castle. "Look there my friends, and be witness to this feat". Now he spun. Once twice, thrice and like a discus, cast the stone in a whipping motion, sailing straight and true through the air and clearing well over twenty trees, far further than any ordinary man could have managed.

"Now let Miltiades best that if he can", he said smugly, and recieving a generous amount of affection from his supporters which only bolstered his momentary enthusiasm, kicked another stone to his competitor.

Miltiades reached down to take it in his hands, thinking all the while how Euthymios was a most clever and prodigious bastard. This sentiment was not at all undeserving for a quick appraisal had this second stone at no less than 60 pounds- an agonizingly heavy thing in anybodys hands and no doubt heavier than what Euthymios had used for himself. But Miltiades knew that in such a fervor, no crowd would care. He would therefor be forced to cast the stone or be utterly defeated. If he were to ask for a lighter stone, he would be ridiculed. If he were to cry foul, it would fall on deaf ears. Nevertheless, he felt that he had good odds, for to his spiritually empowered body, 60 pounds was a dreadfully light thing.

"Pray, stand back", said he with a devilishly jaunty humor, for he knew how to please a crowd. "I can not be responsible for any injuries recieved from my vigorous manly strength". Amidst the ensuing laughs, the chuckles, and the chants of throw! throw! throw! from both his supporters and dissenters, he drew his good throwing arm across his body. 'By the gods', he thought to himself. 'I have never felt so good and alive as in death!'. And once feeling that he was sufficiently poised for a massive effort, released the tension from his body so that it heaved like a ballista.

The crowd, craning their necks skywards in such a great hurry to catch the flying object, narrowly caught the projectile with their eyes as it peaked the apex of its soaring flight and blew straight through a hundred trees with a buzzing whistle.

"There now", said Miltiades, dusting off his hands amidst many a congratulations and hearty pats on the back. "There now, nothing to it".

"Incredible, absolutely stunning", said the man in the richly decorated armor and the blue cape, whos mere enthusiasm was overbearing enough to set Miltiades off balance. Nevertheless, he reached out to return a firm embrace. "Miltiades no onager or ballista could have performed such a feat of distance, why I dare say that if we had your sort of athleticism in the olympic games, we would have trounced the other cities with contemptuous ease!"

"Why I appreciate the sentiment, greatly appreciate it-"

"Melanthios", the man said. "I had always been a fan of yours in Athens, though it is a shame how it all turned out you know. I fear that if only I had done my part to dissuade the others in their unruly haste, you could have... well".

"Oh, my friend", said Miltiades who was genuinely touched by this display of admiration and respect, for in his life he had found precious little, even from those he had saved from the yoke of tyranny. "Your words warm my heart considerably. Worry not, a trifling fifty talents to pay was hardly a punishment comparable to death- do not think I did not know that they had considered it and would have neatly meted out such punishment had I not had some fellow countrymen with pity and mercy in their hearts... even though I did die in the end. Ha Ha!"

"Yes yes. A pity that hades took so great a man in so grungy a cell... Pray, what is that ruckus?"

Both men turned, and for his part, Miltiades was not surprised to see Euthymios pounding his chest like some gorilla and howling curses and obscenities, and all the while his fanatical supporters, most of them nude, bunched up around him and drew various weapons and borrowed vitrulent hatred and fervor from their leader.

"What now Euthymios", spat Miltiades to the prodigious bastard.

"Foul! Foul!", Euthymios spat, frothing at the lips. "I demand a vote!"

"A vote! A vote!" echoed the chorus of like minded citizens. Meanwhile, the opposition party- there was always an opposition, was quick to drown out the chant with a cascading wave of jeers and boos.

"Nay, you misunderstand my friend", said Miltiades, anxiously observing the way many men were staring at eachother with unbridled blood lust, and gripping the hilts of swords and spears, white knuckled. "For I am strategos, and this is a time of war".

"Tyrann-!"

"However!", Miltiades shouted, squeezing shut his eyes and feeling his heart rage and pound at such a narrow aversion of disaster, for he knew what Euthymios would have said, and knew that at such a critical moment, the people of Athens could not have withstood such an accusation without succumbing to violent blows.

"however", he repeated slowly. Now he paused in the effort to form coherent words from the memories and thoughts coalescing in his heart and mind, for he was struck with a sudden bout of inspiration. It was as though Zeus himself had sent a thunderbolt coursing through his body, the feeling was... electrifying in its ambition and peril, and yet at the same time, borne from his masters words, which had wormed its way through the darkest part of his heart- a gnawing anxiety which suggested that perhaps his master's strange magic would not be able to keep these men in line should majestic words and the bonds of patriotism fail first in the endeavor.

"Euthymios, you are also right in that, blessed as I am by the Gods, I am also just a man, and a man whose character had been called into question many times in my life. As such, I do not dismiss your worries of tyranny, oppression, or foolish judgement, for they are well warranted- and let me say, men of Athens, that my most recent and heinous err in judgement has been particularly gross for it involves so many of you. How foolish of me, that I had not recognized the company of so many talented and worthy country men. That they should be ruled by one man, it is unacceptable. No, no we shall have instead a council of five", and turning to Euthymios himself who seemed to scarcely believe what he was hearing and had a look on his face that suggested some divine hand had boxed his ears in, he took the mans arms and closed to an intimate distance. "Why, Euthymios, you have so worthy a character and are so beloved by many amongst us, who here would disagree that you should have a voice in this council?"

For those amongst the Athenians who supported Euthymios, this was their cue to break out into cheerful song and dance, however in their state of stunned disbelief, they could barely muster a word until some farmhand broke out into furious applause. For those amongst the Athenians who disdained Euthymios and supported Miltiades, this decleration was met by a generally discontent grumble, however because it was their leader who said this, they could not form a readily coherent response, but to look on to see what he did next.

"And what of this man", said Miltiades, who had drawn the shining Melanthios next to him. "What an upstanding morale character and virtues is he possessed by, did you know? You men are well familiar with him are you not?" Indeed, Melanthios was well known in Athens- Miltiades could tell by the way the man was dressed, for the rich men of the city were very often the most widely publicized figures, and seen by the masses as the creme of citizenry. In fact, Melanthios himself was of particulary favorable repute, for in his life he had been a notable patron of the arts and of theatre specifically, and had even won first place prize once for his amature tragedy at the festival of dionysus. (Sadly, the knowledge given to Miltiades through his summoning told him that that play, like many ancient works of theatre, had been forever lost to time and attrition.)

It was no surprise then, that he was favorably recieved by all.

"Who else?", Miltiades cried, "my friends this is not a dictatorship! We must have the best among you, but you must decide for yourselves!" In fact, Miltiades was hardly surprised that the name on many a lip was Agathon, whom he knew to be a charitable man, and therefor was popular with the masses. Discretely, he also knew that of all the men whom had supported his call for war, Agathon had numbered amongst them.

"A good man, a noble man", he said, clasping his arm in his own. A paragon of virtue and mercy, Agathon was truly a champion of the common citizen, disdaining the greatly ornate and beaten bronze cuirasses of his fellow strategoi, and donning instead the armor of the average hoplite, the linothorax. He wore no cape, for every one he had owned had eventually found itself in the hands of some shivering beggar and it was often rumored that he subsided on gruel and water alone.

"Euthymios, my good friend", said Miltiades, turning back to the man at last, who seemed to have finally gathered his wits about him. "I would never compel you to accuse me of uncouth politicking. Since you are so excellent of character yourself, it follows that any man you can speak kindly of is also of excellent character. Who is it Euthymios?"

"Isokrates is well versed in war. He... took part in the battles against Cleomenes, king of sparta", the man spoke with such melancholy that Miltiades immediately became alarmed that the bastard had discovered exactly what he was plotting.

"I too, think that he is a fantastic choice", he said, adding to himself privately, 'and likely also a fantastic yes-man'.

But it was of no real consequence, and he quickly dispeled with any outward hint of surprise or distrust, for he had effectively stacked the small council with a simple majority in his favor, but because two of these council members were of the opposing party, and one had been democratically elected by the populace, no one could possibly be the wiser, and who now could say that this endeavor was the result of one mans ambition alone? A man who had, in his infinite charity and wisdom, willfully relinquished a portion of his own power.

"and that my dear master", said Miltiades, who was now in such good spirits that even the disparaging tone of the wooden chair scraping against the stone floor, in the dank dark room lit only by candle light, sounded like a chorus of beautiful nymphs singing vis a vis the death of some incorrigbly terrible pussy cat. "Is the power of deft word play and political maneovering. No silly magics required. I have at a stroke, sucessfully secured their allegiance and their vigorous enthusiasm to the cause."

"And what did you do then", said Kitirtsugu, who although feigning disinterest or simply displaying his natural aptitude as a bore, could not hide the spark of curiosity in his eyes.

"Ah- I", Miltiades said, settling deeper into his chair. "Made it my first point of business to establish routine patrols around the premises." He could not, in fact, keep the engorging satisfaction out of his voice as he said that, for he once again held a very real power and authority over men, whom both supported and cherished him, and this above all else made it pleasurable. "I then divided the troops into divisions. Although eighty men per strategos is a very miniscule number, I believe for the purposes of this war it will suffice. Of course, I kept the best of them for myself, the land owners, the aristocrats and such". His eyes began to cloud over in thought, and he eminently wished that he had some olives and good greek wine on hand, but for now the taste of imminent victory would suffice. "Yes, I think that tomorrow we shall go out and kill some servants and harry their masters. Perhaps we shall kill the masters too. Then you will have your wish of world peace, and I will have... well", he said suddenly. "No matter, we shall each go our seperate ways once this is done, and that will be that".

And with that he stood, straightened out his ruffled skirt and hastily left the premises, leaving his brooding master, with what could be called an inkling hint of virulent dislike growing in the pit of his stomach, although for the life of him, Kiritsugu could not tell what it was exactly about the man he called his servant, that offended him so greatly. In any case nothing about his cause or his plans had changed, and though there was no small part of him that despised putting Irisviel in mortal danger, he knew that no adversary in this war would ever strike out at a servant alone, let alone multiple servants. No, they would have to be gently coerced into exposing themselves with the proper bait, and once lured, sprung upon with immediacy and lethal efficiency.

"I trust that your meeting with the esteemed overlord fared as terribly as your expression would suggest", said Melanthios to Miltiades, as they ajoined in some dank hallway.

"In point of fact, it fared with admirable civility", Miltiades corrected. "Although, I tell you- there is something prominently untrustable about that man. Not least of which being his lackadaisical attitude towards this entire endeavor. Do you know, that he has not once made an effort to divulge his plan of action with me, his leading general. Of course, the man speaks so little that I did not have the heart to entreat him of it lest he die of social embarrassment."

"Is that so?", said Melanthios.

"It is quite unfortunate that we are bound to him, I am starting to think that he does not have the aptitude for this sort of thing".

"Well, I would not know", Melanthios shrugged. "I have not had the pleasure of speaking with the man. Perhaps we are merely pawns to be used and discarded at his liesure. This would not surprise me, as he is an easterner and I know that many easterners disdain their fellow men in such a manner. Why, Darius himself was such a man, and we rightly rid ourselves of him".

"Of course", said Miltiades, feeling at once, an indignation on behalf of this man that he shared the ties of solidarity with and a renewed suspicion of his master. "There is another thing that has been bothering me incessantly, although I had previously disregarded it as being nothing more than the ill begotten product of an overly pessimistic mind, yet now that we have arrived at our present subject of discourse I cannot help but wonder whether the two matters are intimately related."

"And that would be?"

"Well, you know that we are summoned into this time on behalf of this man, our master, to make bloody war on his enemies in the pursuit of a single wish. A miracle if you will".

"Yes", Melanthios nodded. "I remember when you explained this to us. It was quite a shock to me especially, for I had never been a superstitious man, and therefor the concept of life after death had never occured to me. Least of all in this manner, borne from rest by contemptible foreign sorcery".

"So", Miltiades continued, "We do our duty in service to this man, our master, by ridding him and us of his enemies through force of arms. We then come upon this single wish, this miracle. In that moment, my friend, who recieves the wish? The master? Or the servant?"

"You suspect that it is the master".

"Does not the title itself suggest such a logical conclusion? In what reality, Melanthios, is the servant ever the benificiary of the masters own pursuits?"

"If what you say is true, Miltiades, than this is gravely concerning to me. Tyrants I may abide by, but I have never looked favorably upon those who look to cheat the ones that toil alongside them."

"I thank you for that".

Then, under that curtain of stygian gloom which descends upon all those possessed by mutiny, harshly seperating them from the absolvent company and understanding of their fellow man, a strange silence fell between them.

"Well", Melanthios uttered finally, a gravelly cough that was punctuated by the hiss of a sword sliding from its scabbard. "We should deal with this problem immediately."

"No, No, No", Miltiades ushered hastily, dragging Melanthios into a dark recess with violent affection. "We must not make our move until this wish is within our grasp. Do you not see? This opportunity is one of unparalleled value, and we must take hold of it, lest we be men of misfortune for the entirety of our undeath. Therefore", he continued, his mood growing dark now for he so detested this kind of discussion. "In the dusk of our very last battle, we shall see when the master is suitably unprepared, perhaps amiable to us for our victory, and therefor trusting. We shall then have at him with our blades and that will be the end of it. We shall wish that all of us be granted immortality, or eternal happiness in death, or that Athenai shall once again be the city of great wealth and culture. We will be fufilled at last- now hush, here comes the masters wife!"

"Ah, the amiable lady", he greeted as soon as he had let the other man away, thankfully in time that no misundertandings might have arisen from the questionable sight of two men huddled in a corner. As the pale woman drifted towards him as though on a breeze, he managed an awkward half bow- half nod, which already hurt his pride as an Athenian and a (former) tyrant, for free men did not prostrate themselves before others. Nevertheless he knew from his knowledge of this time that it was a convention, a courtesy and he had no wish to incite undue tension between an innocent for no other reason than his pride.

"I feel", he tentatively pursued the right words for this confession, "I feel I must apologize on behalf of my country men, understand that they were not blessed with such an advantage as I have recieved and know little of this world or its customs. They are a... a people disconnected from reality", he finished lamely. 'Not to mention that a good few of them are miserable sons of bitches that I could do without', he thought also, and then seeing that the woman, Irisviel had turned a dusky shade of pink in the cheeks, immediately percieved himself to have blundered terribly.

"Ah... I did not mean to recall memories of that incident of course. I..."

"Oh its nothing I havent seen before...", said she, seeming more bashful by the second. "But..."

"Of course, of course, you have a husband", said Miltiades, feeling that he had neither the words nor the gumption to sustain this exchange for any longer.

"... It was quite awkward".

"Yes".

He floundered. He quite literally had nothing more to say at that point, and felt so far removed from his zone of comfort that he felt that should he return to death in the next second it would have been the greatest of mercies. 'Damn these incorrigble woman folk, I wish they would not pester me with their troubles any longer'. However he could not rightly say that aloud knowing that he was at least minutely related to these troubles.

"Lady, if there is anything I can do, anything at all-"

"Well, now that you mention it", she said, suddenly no longer abashed, no longer demure, a very imposing presence making itself known in too close a proximity to his face. "I've always wanted to explore the world outside the confines of my home. You see, its an opportunity that I've never had until now, and I would appreciate it if I had some company with me along the way."

"You have a husband for that".

"Oh Kiri?", she looked about innocently. "He's always so dreadfully busy".

"Woman", Miltiades snapped. He no longer felt obliged to be courteous or amiable, for her change in demeanor had been so sudden, her sanguine now so overbearing that he felt it was impossible that he had not been bushwacked. "You shall have it. By the Gods you shall have it".

And although he said this with barely restrained contempt, she smiled.

"I shall assign you three guards", he said. "Wait. No". 'No, no that would not do', he thought, once more embittered by the memory of how this all came to be, and how none but he amongst the Athenians was gifted with the priviledge of knowledge, which included amongst its bounty the local tongue, the only method of communication, for the masters wife did not speak koine, and similarly, the Athenians did not speak Japanese German or English.

"Very well madame. I shall accompany you myself".

She whisked away with that damned petulant smile still plastered to her face.

"It seems a shame that we must plot so deviously when such an innocent bystander will no doubt be adversely harmed by our efforts", said Melanthios, making his presence known once more.

"Believe me, it is no great shame, she is as untrustworthy as her lover".

"Ah, I seem to be at a disadvantage here. To me it looked as though you were having the most pleasant conversation, but as I wallowed in ignorant silence a sudden thought occured to me. If ever the time came when we should have to take up arms against our esteemed overlord, what chance could we possibly stand against the power to bind our very souls from the afterlife? Does he not also hold the power to compell us to perform any three actions, beyond our own reason and indeed, what we wish from the very bottoms of our hearts?"

"Well now, Melanthios", said Miltiades with genial satisfaction. He very much enjoyed returning to a topic that he was intimately familiar with. "I see you have very carefully considered this, but I think you should have little to worry about, for if any of these masters were remotely adept at the martial pursuits of war and violence, I should think that they would have little need for us. No, they are most likely soft, vulnerable, and you as well as I felt that unnatural power coursing through our veins which seperates us from mortal men, as did that bastard Euthymios when he cast that stone. No, we shall have little to worry about in that respect. As to your second point, Melanthios, it is presently unclear whether you all are fallen victim to this unfortunate curse or if I alone am the victim of this burden, nevertheless, I believe I shall have a clever scheme or two up my sleeve if the need arises- it should be no great trouble to have our master expend his three curses in some fruitless endeavor or another of my own imagination. Now, I have a task for you, and it seems I shall be the first to explore the wretched battlefield..."

It was now noon. In the forests beyond the castle, the snow rustled quietly beneath the sandals of two men as they walked abreast; and in the dim silence, if one were to listen carefuly they might catch the irregular snippet of conversation on the breeze, rendered in a hushed quiet which spoke illy of the topic this pair shared between them. Both men carried spears in hopes of catching some game, but they rarely came upon an animal which they could set upon easily.

"Oh gods Oh gods how I hate him", said the first man, who in the absence of vigorous activity had returned to his previous sullen melancholy, the dark emotion which had taken ahold of him for many hours, for he had recently been made a fool of and at first been filled with righteous indignation and fury. Nevertheless, the palpable loss of dignity which accompanied this blow had drained him of his efficacy. In a phrase, he was on the verge of surrender and total annihilation.

"What man", said Isokrates, who did not possess the ability to properly interperet the language of the soul and was therefor ignorant of his partners plight.

"What man!? What man indeed! I speak of Miltiades of course", spat Euthymios.

"Ah"

"The blasted goat fucker, Tyrannus Miltiades", Euthymios continued without pausing to draw breath. His blood was up, for in this bleak world he had at least one pair of ears to lend him audience and credence. In this sense, there was some light at the end of the tunnel. "Tyrannus indeed, Tyrant of Chersonese and now Tyrant once more of the last of Athenai, summoned into this wretched world by an eastern tyrant. Ha! What a poetic turn of events, do you not think so Isokrates? That a Tyrant should command a tyrant."

"and command us by proxy", said Isokrates, nodding sagely.

At that, Euthymios's heart fell once more, and his shoulders drooped pitifully. "I was there when Athenai had its first taste of freedom, and do you know, it was so beautiful a thing I thought that the world would forever be cured of evil and injustice, for we citizens suffered so many offenses under Pesistratos and his bastard sons, I think that a dark cloud had been borne in all our hearts and weighed us down for many years- you can imagine then, that once freed of this burden how brightly we saw the world, like we were once more children, and that there was wonder and possibility around every corner. I tell you Isokrates, a man who has never felt the burden of shackles may live his life in peace and comfort, but will never be so fufilled by freedom as one who has known a life without its warm embrace."

"I agree with this sentiment brother".

"I know you do Isokrates, although I fear that this has been lost upon many of our bretheren. How quick we are to exchange one tyrant for another", he shook his head. "I simply do not understand".

"Perhaps mens hearts were not meant to be understood", said Isokrates, "for if we were all cold and calculating creatures, should we not all act the same?, desire the same? Act only in our own interests? But no, we have an illogical rythm whithin us which beats the measure of a man and each one beats differently, and for different reasons, or perhaps the same, but that circumstances and an uncommon destiny distinguishes one from the other. My tutor taught me that. To this day, I am unsure of its validity."

"Well, they are pretty words nonetheless", said Euthymios, "But I can neither attest to their accuracy. If I were to correct one point though, I would say that men are not poetically illogical, but downright stupid. For what man in their right mind could love a tyrant?"

To this, Isokrates chuckled heartedly. "My friend, democracy and indeed, freedom may not be for everyone, for freedom is its own sort loneliness. When you are truly free, you know also that you are alone in your actions, and this can be a frightening thing, for the world is not such a simple place that there is only one direction to travel. You can see how a person could become dreadfully lost- I know with certainty that there are those of us who are not born with a sense of direction- they have never known a destination but where the current takes them, and to them the current is chaotic, and so freedom is anathema. There are others who know their destination with utmost certainty, they picture it with every fabric of their imagination, day and night, but for all that, they too are lost, for they have nothing to guide them to it but their sense of morality, or their desires, or their patriotism, all of which are equally blind, for they have no eyes of their own- they see only what their master sees, and for that reason, he goes in circles although he may not be aware of it. Can you truly say that there is not to a sheep, an ounce of appeal in a shepard? He gives them direction, and defends them from danger. Most of all, it is so easy to be at peace with ones actions when they are not wholly their own, for one can simply say: Oh, why must the burden of consequence be mine alone? It was my shepards bidding that I obey- and therefore they can live peacefully where a free man might dread and agonize painfully."

"Do you also see this appeal?", said Euthymios with only genuine respect and curiosity.

"Me? Oh no", Isokrates corrected hastily, "I only know that it exists, and only then because it was explained to me at expense of great pain and time on the part of the teacher, heh. You see, I have forever had a difficulty understanding people, and am not posssessed of a cleverness like some other men are. At times, I hardly understand myself, or why I view the world the way that I do, or do the things that I do. I am a simple man. Therefor I will defend my love of freedom and democracy till my dying breath, for no other reason than that they are mine."

"Well than", said Euthymios, "You are in good company, for we neither of us are possessed of cleverness or great mental vigor. I have never been ashamed to admit it, though it has caused me problems in the past. I know that I made a blundering fool of myself today. At least we men are assured of what we are, and what we stand for- even if we do not fully understand why."

"Now look!", Isokrates commanded in a hushed whisper.

"What is it?". Euthymios's eyes darted amongst the bushes until they fell upon a trace of rusty orange brown. Against the stark white and muted earth tones of snow and vegetation, the unnatural color stood out in glaring contrast.

Slowly, so as not to create any unnecessary racket, he took up his dory spear overhand- this was a substantially long thing, about eight foot in length and possessed a weight to it which facilitated its power as a thrusting weapon. As such, it made for poor throwing, but as Euthymios did not have a javelin, bow or sling, he made do- and at the same time crouched low.

He brought the weapon up to his cheek, and sighting down the length of the shaft with his good eye, wound back ever so slowly.

"Do you have it?" Isokrates wondered publically. To which Euthymios sprang forward on his left foot and hurled his spear with little application of force, and all application of accuracy.

Despite this, the projectile shot forward as though fired from a scorpion.

"A good throw. Excellent!", Isokrates observed as they ran to catch their quarry. The distance of the shot had not been more than thirty feet or so, therefore they crossed it in a matter of seconds and observed that the shaft had been buried nearly three quarters length into flesh and dirt.

"What manner of creature is this?", said Euthymios, gingerly taking it- spear and all- into his hands.

"A fox I believe"

"Huh. What a pitiful creature. I have hunted bear before, and deer, and boar, but never fox. Do you think that if we were to skin it and dress it, and roast it over some fire somewhere, it would make for decent eating? Indeed, can the dead such as we even consider such a thing?"

"Well, Euthymios, I would not think to worry about it for I have spoken to many of our soldiers who have entreated it upon me, that they should have something to eat or drink- they so longed for the taste of food and wine in their mouths, and even some place to rest in comfort. I daresay we do not need such things, however we are not wholly prohibited from it, thank the Gods. As to your first question, I do not rightly know. I have never had fox before, and they are such scrawny things, however if you ask me specifically about this one here, I would not even consider it. The poor thing has been utterly pulverised."

"So it has, forgive me, I am still unaware of my own strength". He thought about this for a second, and than two. "You know, Isokrates, the more I think about it, the less opposed to this mad endeavor I find myself. Simply look at how we have been blessed with inhuman speed and strength, I should think that if we were embroiled in conflict we would easily crush our enemies, and a miracle is so worthy a prize. You may think me a hippocrit because of this. This is not true. I simply do not believe that Miltiades is the man to lead us to it. What devastation a tyrant such as he could wreak with even a single wish. I thought I had been rid of him in my life when we had him sentenced to prison. Now I find myself contending with him once more, and he is ever the crafty foe but he has not changed muched, other than that he has grown even more arrogant. A tyrant cannot stand the sight of a free man. It sets his very blood aflame."

"But what is to be done of it? I told you that I am not a clever man. Not like Miltiades. I could not think of a way to turn this thing in our favor".

"Why, brother, do not think of yourself so lowly, for you have been the source of so much inspiration today, I cannot thank you enough! To tell you the truth, I have been thinking about this dilemma without much interuption, and there are several things we can do. Firstly, Isokrates, we should endeavor to gather up whatever priviledges we may happen upon- I mean food, and drink, perhaps even tents- and distribute it amongst our soldiers, that we may gain their favor. It is not much, but it is a start and anyway, if they are to fight it should not be in total deprivation."

"And what of the strategoi? Will they not conspire to act against us? Besides that, I know that many men will remain adamantly loyal to their commander. It is natural that war should foster such tendencies amongst them."

"My friend", Euthymios laughed, "In his arrogance, Miltiades has already done half the work for us- why, we ourselves are strategoi are we not? It would be so dreadfully an easy thing to compell this council in our favor, we would only need another man..." At this, his eyes lit up with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Yes! That daft fool Agathon, he is the proper man to bring to our side!"

"What of the other one. Melanthios?"

"No no, he is firmly with Miltiades, but Agathon... I confess I know so little about the man, he was such a bizarre creature in life. What motivations could he possibly hide... Ah, I am getting ahead of myself, we have not even taken the first step yet".

"Brother", said Isokrates, "Despite it all, you have given us our destination".

He brought his hand forward and they clasped each other warmly by the elbows.

"Long live Athenai!"


End file.
